“What in the ever-living—”

“You were out.” I cut him off, avoiding a string of profane words. I’d heard him curse before, during other violent encounters. Kalon could easily get a Potty Mouth Trophy without much effort.

He sprang to his feet, clothes soaked in cold water, his skin pale but his cheeks red, trying to make sense of everything. It was very hard not to laugh, but focusing on the urgency helped a lot. I handed him a dry towel.

“Come on, we need to get this guy out of here,” I said. He patted his face and rubbed his head with the towel, taking deep breaths in the process.

“What happened?” Kalon asked, looking at me, then at the Rimian, whom I’d dragged into the bathroom to keep an eye on while I’d waited for Sleeping Beauty over here to wake up.

“You got darted.” I snorted a chuckle, fiery blush spreading through my cheeks. I’d have hoped for more charming-sounding laughter, but it was hard, considering the unintended humor of this situation.

He stepped out of the tub, his legs still a little shaky. Water dripped from his clothes, the fabric molded onto every curve and line of his athletic body. My mouth became dry, yet another reaction I had no control over. Kalon was too busy feeling embarrassed to even notice my juvenile awkwardness or my hungry gawking—I could see the shape of his muscles through the shirt and even the velvety vest: his rock-hard abs and carved thighs, his sculpted shoulders and strong arms. My temperature, otherwise graveyard-cool, was rising.

“My head hurts,” Kalon muttered, scowling at the Rimian. “He’s the one who got me, isn’t he?” He looked at me, and I pressed my lips into a thin line in order to stop myself from grinning again. I shook my head, and he shifted his focus back to the Rimian. “Okay. Either way, we’re gonna talk, the three of us. I owe one of your colleagues for that dart, but since I can’t collect from them, well… I’ve got you.”

Fear twinkled in the Rimian’s brown eyes, but he didn’t exhibit any other reaction. At first glance, he seemed completely stoic, but I did wonder if he’d be the same once I was done with him—not to mention Kalon, who was already itching for revenge.

Fifelle showed up in the doorway, gasping with surprise. “Ah. He’s awake,” she said, then narrowed her eyes at me. “Now, get out of my house!”

“Do you know a safe place where we can go?” I asked Kalon while he was pulling the Rimian up to his feet with just one hand.

Kalon sighed and hurled him over his shoulder, ripping a shocked and muffled yelp from the guy as Kalon carried him out like a sack of potatoes. Fifelle got out of our way, eyeing us carefully.

“There’s an abandoned residence not far from here, as it happens,” Kalon grumbled, his boots thudding down the wooden steps. “Is there a back exit?”

“Around the stairs, blue door,” Fifelle replied from above. She stayed behind, still trembling because of our unexpected presence. I felt sorry for her, but she was going to be okay. She could’ve had it much, much worse. She could’ve gotten hurt in the melee.

We made our way out of the house and into a dark back alley. We heard people on the other side—silver guards shouting, locals whispering. There was no sign of the Red Threads, but I knew there could very well still be eyes looking for us, wondering where we’d gone. It was only a matter of time before they’d find us, if we stayed here.

“So, what about that abandoned residence?” I asked Kalon, who led the way through the maze of narrow and shaded side streets. The Rimian kept moaning and trying to talk, but we both ignored him.

“It’s where I used to live before my father died,” Kalon replied.

“Oh… And it’s abandoned?”

He didn’t answer right away, but I felt sad for him. I could only imagine what losing a parent was like. Tristan and I had both been fortunate in this respect. “We burned it down. It was infected by Black Fever.”

“How can a house be infected?” I replied, startled and confused.

We made a sharp left turn, then a couple more to the right, until we reached a small and seemingly deserted cul-de-sac. All the houses here had been burned down many years ago. Only their structural beams and some of the walls remained, all blackened by the fire. Dust and dirt gathered in every crevice, and there was a general sense of loneliness coming out of this place.

At the very end, a mansion still stood in better condition than the houses. Part of its tiled roof was still up, though barely hanging. It would likely collapse at the first earthly tremor. The main door was off its hinges, but I could still see its sturdy brass knocker. For a moment, I imagined a younger Kalon living here, laughing with his siblings… long before tragedy had come knocking on their door.

“He died in there. His blood seeped into the wood floors. It was too risky to try and clean the whole place up, since the virus is quite resilient, even after it loses its host. For us, it was dangerous. So our mother decided to burn it down. Everyone on this block was relocated,” Kalon explained.

What a terrible disease, to not only kill a father, but also to drive entire families from their homes, plumes of black smoke rising behind them. My heart broke just from thinking about it.

He carried the Rimian up the steps and carefully moved past the fallen door, into the darkness. I followed him in, momentarily hypnotized by the rays of afternoon sunlight that cut through the blackness, slipping through broken windows and punctured walls.

“This was your home,” I murmured, looking around as I adjusted to the obscurity around us. I had a hard time picturing a younger Kalon running through these halls, now. There was so much pain and death embedded in the walls, persisting in the dry air… refusing to let go.

“It was, yes,” Kalon replied. He dumped the Rimian on the hardwood floor, parts of which were missing or broken, partially burnt in the fire. Tying his prisoner’s arms around what had once been a decorative lobby column, Kalon removed the gag. The Rimian licked his crusty lips and cursed under his breath. “Welcome to my humble abode, whoever you may be.”

“I will rip your eyes out!” the Rimian spat.

“Whoa there, rowdy ass. Can you not see you’re tied up? The only one doing any eye-ripping today is me, and it’s those two in your sockets that I’ve got my heart set on,” I replied, approaching him with a menacing stride.

Kalon looked at me, partially amused, but played along, as I’d decided to be the bad cop. I kicked the Rimian in the shins, almost breaking his bones, and he cried out from the pain. Beads of sweat quickly erupted and trickled down his face.

“You’re one of the Red Threads, aren’t you?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, choosing to stare down at the floor instead. It just made me more irritable, so I kicked him again—this time in the knees, dislocating one of his kneecaps. “You crazy bitch!” the Rimian bawled, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You’re insane! You’re mental!”

I raised the braided red leather thread. “I’m going to start breaking bones now, unless you answer my questions.”

“Dude, I’d take her seriously if I were you.” Kalon chuckled, his mood improving somewhat. I had a feeling he got a kick out of watching me beat up an assassin—particularly one from the same crew responsible for the dart in his back.

“Hold your woman back!” the Rimian hissed. “I have nothing to tell you!”

“Your woman?” I repeated, frowning at Kalon, who gave me an innocent shrug.

“What? His assumption, not mine.”

I breathed out and crouched before the Rimian. Extending my claws, I slashed them across his face, drawing three deep red lines. He grimaced, causing blood to flow in fine threads along his cheeks. “Let’s try this again. You’re a member of the Red Thread faction, Rimians in cahoots with the Darklings. Correct?”

He still wouldn’t answer, so I gifted him with another set of bleeding lines, forming a sinister triple X on his face, his skin cut open, its edges glistening scarlet and pink. If I went any deeper, I was bound to reveal the cheekbones, too.

“I have no control whatsoever over this fine predator,” Kalon said. “I wouldn’t want to, to be honest. Look at how feisty and feral she is. Do you really think I’d be able to tame her? My friend, you should start talking before she cuts deeper. Much deeper.”

The Rimian flinched when I raised my hand again, but he paid attention to Kalon’s advice. “Incorrect,” he mumbled, licking blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“We’re not in cahoots with the Darklings. That’s just one of many rumors about us.”

“But you’re from the Red Thread faction,” I concluded, and he nodded in response. “Okay. Why did you attack us?”

“We’ve been following you since whispers came from the palace that you were looking for us, along with the Darklings. We wanted to clear the air and get the facts straight with you, before someone gets killed,” the Rimian replied.

“Were the poisonous darts part of your effort to clear the air?” I asked, my tone clipped.

“We weren’t going to kill you! We were just going to talk to you.”

Kalon laughed, mockingly throwing his head back. “Right. Sure. Well, since you’re here, by all means, knock yourself out. Talk.”

“Talk, before I cut you a new one,” I hissed at the Rimian.

“A new what?” he replied, slightly confused. That elicited another bout of laughter from Kalon. I shot him a cold gaze, too, trying to keep the conversation on topic, before I brought my claws closer to the Rimian’s throat. “Okay… Okay! What do you want to know?”